


A Poet Cannot Love

by apoetwithoutstrings



Category: The Witcher (TV), The Witcher (TV) RPF, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Oneshot Prompts Challenge, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 06:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26348509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apoetwithoutstrings/pseuds/apoetwithoutstrings
Summary: Dandelion gets his heartbroken and decides to talk to Geralt about his feelings towards love as a whole. Short. Sweet.
Kudos: 9





	A Poet Cannot Love

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!

“Geralt?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever wonder why poets don’t have lovers?”

“No I don’t.”

Dandelion picked up his feet and stepped towards the witcher, who was sitting on a palliasse in the storeroom they managed to afford for the night. He moved his hat from his head and set it on top of his lute.

The sun shined dimly through the tattered window to the left of the bed that they were to share, the sun was soon going to rest for the night. Dandelion was already in the room with Geralt, both men had a flask freshly filled of vodka and wore clothing that was newly cleaned. The troubadour stood tall next to the bed that was witcher was resting on, he pursed his lips as his thoughts started to form into words ready to be spoken.

“Poets,” he spoke with a hand swinging in the air, “don’t have lovers because they will never satisfy!” 

The witcher eyed the poet curiously as he was trying to figure out what the drunk was talking about. To Geralt, Dandelion did have lovers and a lot for the matter. He bedded a new woman almost every night and always swayed lovers with words of lust. Geralt let out a sigh and finally responded to the preacher Dandelion, “and why is that?”

“I will never marry and I will never have a Triss, a Yennefer, or any man because I have fallen in love with literature. And the literature has fallen in love with me. Geralt, we poets don’t know what love feels like, us bloody bastards write about the dammed feel although we know. Absolutely! Nothing!” He sighed after his declaration and for a moment Geralt saw a tear weld in the poet’s eyes. 

“Do you need a drink?” Geralt asked gently, he could tell something had gotten to the other man. 

“I do need another drink.” He replied as he sat on a stool that sat near the bed Geralt was on. Geralt moved his body to dig in Dandelions bag, his hand pulled out a flask. The witcher tossed the flask to Dandelion-- who caught it effortlessly. 

Dandelion took a drink and shuttered his face as the flask’s lips pulled away. He let out a small gasp for air as his eyes started to water.

“Goddammit!” The poet cursed himself.

Geralt froze for a moment, which is not usual for a witcher, and looked at Dandelion with worried eyes. The poet hadn’t ever expressed loneliness in front of the witcher and the witcher was no therapist. 

“Do you want to further explain your uh..” Geralt paused in fear he’d make it worse, “frustrations?”

“I’m unsure you’ll understand though I will explain,” Dandelion collected his voice and hid every inch of sorrow, “A troubadour writes ballads about love, such as myself, although the writer will never understand the feelings they write about. We’ve painted this picture-perfect version of what love is and we yearn for it although once we have anything similar. We hate it. How could a poet write a love story if he’s under a lust spell? He’d write about himself and it would be boring. No tips, no nothing, it’s a boring love story with a happy ending there is no creativity for the audience because they’ll think the words about themselves.” 

Geralt listened to the ramble that the poet spoke. Although he did not understand the feeling Dandelion had, he tried his best to show interest in the man’s sorrows. Dandelion was a hypocrite, the man had written about numerous of his love affairs. Though the ballads of his love adventure held little truth to the actual events so the audience did not know the man in the story was the writer; potentially clever in the poet’s world although Geralt did not understand. The witcher nodded along as Dandelion spoke encouraging the man to continue his drunk sorrows.

“Not that it’s bad to relate to a song, the way we write allows for that. Though if you continue to relate yourself, you’ll never understand the meaning the characters tried to speak. I’m not making sense. Back to my main point,” Dandelion flipped the lid of the flask and put the vodka to his lips for a longer sip then before, “poets cannot have long time lovers. Poets don’t have love interests Geralt, because they know no feeling can compare to the feeling a word can give and no such person exists. The words cannot come alive.” 

The dramatic rambler bowed his head and set his eyes to look down. His eyes dropped a singular tear that landed on the man’s trousers. Dandelion moved his hand to sweep up his hair and lift his head away from despair. 

Geralt looked at him and felt an awkward tension fill the room. The sun had moved down and allowed the lady of the moon to awake and the room had darkened. Geralt swiped a hand to form the sign of Igni towards a candle to hold the light in the room, he took a breath and prepared to comfort the poet. 

“Dandelion, you’re saying a poet can never feel satisfied with lovers because they aren’t words?” Geralt asked timidly, looking for the confirmation that he understood the singer. He moved his hand to push his torso up, now sitting upright on the edge of the palliasse.

“Yes Geralt, you understood I right.”

“Well, the lovers can say words? What if they speak in the poems?” Geralt felt how ridiculous his statement was, directly after he said it. The witcher was trying his best.

“Ah, Geralt I’m glad to see you’re trying to comfort me. Thank you witcher, though every poet speaks in a different poem and no poet can match another. Even if I fell in love with a poet, I’d hate it.” Dandelion chuckled to himself as he realized the witcher was actually trying, he kicked up his feet and stood upright. He moved the flask to where it came from and walked to the other side of the hay mattress that Geralt sat on. 

“You’re uh, you’re welcome.” Geralt stuttered.

Dandelion sat on the opposite side of the bed, slipped off his boots, and moved his body to lay down on the right side of the small bed. He let out a sigh as his head hit the pillow. 

“Who needs love Geralt?” He asked rhetorically, “why would I need a love when I have you. You’re much more interesting.”

Geralt blew out the candles that held the light in the room, moved himself to lay down, and grabbed the shared blanket. 

“Women confuse me, this is a much more peaceful life. Take it from a witcher, love is the worst feeling you can have, it does things to you and makes life much harder.”

“You mean Triss and Yennefer?”

“They made everything much more complicated.”

“Well, seems love messes with a person”

“That it does Dandelion.”

The two shifted their bodies and allowed their eyes to shut. 


End file.
